Chapter 28: The Emperor's Departure
The palace felt colder the next morning, despite the warming light of the Warsenbrenn sun. The whispers in the corridors were no longer just about the fallen Queen, but about the rising power in the south—a power that had dared to play the game of thrones and emerged victorious, leaving Medveick a humiliated, cautious ruler, and Strelm a prince burning with thwarted ambition.
Don, accompanied by Caria, Leinara, and Dvrik, was summoned to the Crown Prince's personal war room. The lavish chamber, once a symbol of Strelm's subtle control, now felt charged with a volatile energy. Strelm stood by a window, his back to them, his posture rigid. He did not turn as they entered, nor did he offer any greeting.
"Lord Adraels," Strelm finally said, his voice flat, devoid of its usual false charm. He turned, his eyes fixed on Don, cold and sharp as winter ice. "Your recent... *initiatives*... within the court have been noted. It seems your talents extend beyond military prowess to the delicate art of courtly manipulation." The thinly veiled accusation hung heavy in the air.
Don met his gaze, his long black hair falling across his shoulders, his expression unreadable. "My loyalty, Your Highness, lies with the stability of the realm. If that stability is threatened, from within or without, I act."
Strelm's lips twitched, a hint of pure venom escaping his control. "Indeed. And your actions have proven... disruptive. The King's patience, Lord Adraels, is not limitless. Nor is his tolerance for those who seek to upset the established order." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "You have played your game here, southern lord. You have exposed my mother, humiliated my father, and sought to turn loyal dukes against their Crown. But Erydon is the heart of Warsenbrenn. You are a guest here. And I advise you to remember that."
He gestured to a prepared missive on his desk, already sealed with the royal crest. "The King, in his wisdom, has decided that your unique talents would be better served in your own lands. You are hereby ordered to return to Adraels Keep immediately. Your mandate as head of the Royal Shadow Hunters is concluded. The Crown has new plans for its security."
It was an abrupt, undeniable dismissal. A clear order for Don to leave the capital, to remove his increasingly disruptive presence. Strelm's aim was clear: to cut Don off from the heart of the kingdom, isolate him in the south, and reclaim full control over the Crown's narrative.
"As the Crown commands," Don replied, his voice calm, betraying no anger or frustration. Caria, beside him, remained impassive, but her hand subtly brushed his, a silent acknowledgment of the strategic maneuver. They had won important skirmishes in the capital, but continuing the fight here would only lead to an open, premature conflict.
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The departure from Erydon was swift and devoid of ceremony. There were no royal escorts, no farewells from the court. Don, Caria, Leinara, and Dvrik rode out with their small retinue of Black Horned Lion riders under the cold gaze of the Royal Guard, leaving the gleaming spires of the capital behind.
As they rode south, the stifling grandeur of Erydon slowly faded, replaced by the familiar ruggedness of the land. Don felt the return of his own energy, the subtle thrum of the **Black Flame**, no longer muted by the palace's oppressive aura. His true power lay not in the gilded cages of court, but in the wild, untamed lands of the south.
Three days into their journey, a raven arrived, bearing the familiar sigil of House Adraels. It was from Earl Dunnel. Don unsealed it, his eyes scanning the neatly penned script.
"The Mire stands firm, son," the letter read. "Tidor's advance halted. His attempts to re-enter have met with... decisive resistance. Casualties are mounting on his side. He has pulled back to Emberstone, licking his wounds. He prepares for a direct, overwhelming strike. He gathers his full strength, and seeks aid from his... *unseen allies*. Word reached us from House Griffor. Lord Varant sends warning of a strange, chilling presence near Emberstone, a pall of unnatural quiet. He suggests you return with all haste. The serpent gathers its coils."
Don looked up from the letter, his gaze meeting Caria's. Her emerald eyes, sharp and intelligent, already understood the implications.
"He's preparing for a true war," Don said, his voice grim. "No more skirmishes. No more subtlety. He wants to crush us with overwhelming force."
Caria's lips curved in a fierce, confident smile, a reflection of the fire that burned within her. "Let him, my emperor. He believes he has forced us back into our cage. But the south is not a cage. It is our forge. And his army... will be the hammer."
Don nodded, his dark eyes blazing with a cold, predatory fire. The political battles in Erydon had won them crucial allies and exposed the rot in the Crown. Now, it was time to return to the crucible of the south, to truly unleash the flame, and meet Tidor's fury with their own unyielding might. The next phase of the war, the consolidation of Helimdor under the Obsidian Court, was about to begin in earnest. The Crown Prince might have forced their departure, but in doing so, he had merely sent the lion back to its pride, ready to hunt.